


As Nature Intended

by Gigi_Sinclair



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: M/M, Slightly kinky.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-18
Updated: 2013-05-18
Packaged: 2017-12-12 05:43:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/807960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gigi_Sinclair/pseuds/Gigi_Sinclair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas gets hot, and Jimmy gets bothered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As Nature Intended

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a Tumblr discussion about Edwardian hygienic challenges (although not particularly historically accurate, I would imagine.)
> 
> For more stories quicker, feel free to follow me on Tumblr: gigitrek.tumblr.com

It was the hottest day of the year, in the middle of one of the hottest summers ever recorded. From the moment the sun rose in the morning, it beat down relentlessly; by midday, the cricket pitch was like an oven. Thomas’ hair hung limply over his forehead, beads of sweat dripping into his eyebrows and sliding into his eyes. He wiped his face on his sleeve. Glancing down, he saw an enormous wet patch soaking through his shirt and being absorbed, more or less, into the white wool of his knitted jumper.

He couldn’t imagine what it must be like to play in some far-off colony like India or Australia, where it got hotter than this as a matter of course. The bowler, some spotty-faced youth who looked young enough to be Thomas’ son, not that he was thinking too carefully about that, threw the ball. Thomas hit it easily. Too easily, almost. It was like scoring runs off a baby. He felt badly enough that he made a point of saying, “Good show,” to the boy later, as they shook hands after the match.

It was hot in the tent, as well, but at least there they were shaded from the sun. Thomas downed a couple of pints with his teammates, but he wasn’t as overjoyed by their victory as he normally would have been. This wasn’t like the annual game, between the village and the house. This time, he’d been lent to the village team. One of their best players had been kicked by a horse a few days earlier and, while he wasn’t seriously injured, his game wasn’t in top form. They wanted to be in top form to play their rivals from Kirbymoorside. The team had approached Lord Grantham, Lord Grantham had approached Thomas, and Thomas had, of course, agreed. A day off was a day off, even if it meant frying in the blazing sun.

It also meant that Thomas knew most of his teammates only casually, and some not at all. Mr. Fitz from the bakery offered him a third pint, but Thomas shook his head. “Best get back,” he said. The others made sympathetic noises, but Thomas could tell they were just as relieved to see him go as he was to leave.

It was a long, hot walk back to the house. He peeled off the woollen jumper, reckoning that it wouldn’t be too sacrilegious now he was away from the pitch, but the shirt beneath was still heavy and thick. Without the jumper, the sweat stains were more obvious, as was the natural odour associated with hard work. The work had been particularly hard today, Thomas noticed. As he approached Downton Abbey, he hoped he would be able to get to his room and splash on some scent before Carson had him serving upstairs.

All of the curtains were drawn, presumably to keep out the heat. This left the servants’ hall in darkness, a strange situation in the middle of the afternoon. As Thomas stumbled in, he saw the glow of a cigarette and a familiar voice said, “How did you do?”

“We won.” By an almost embarrassing margin.

“Well done.” As Thomas’ eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, he saw Jimmy stub out his cigarette. He was fully dressed as well, of course; a heat wave would be no reason for laxity in Mr. Carson’s eyes, or in anyone else’s, for that matter.

“I’m just going to my room for a moment,” Thomas said. He felt strangely uncomfortable as Jimmy drew nearer. “Won’t be long.” Jimmy stopped, less than two feet in front of him. His expression, the normal, vaguely supercilious smirk, changed instantly into something else, something Thomas didn’t recognize. Whatever it was flashed in Jimmy’s eyes and curled up his lip in a sort of half-sneer. Jimmy breathed deeply, once and then again, and said, “I’ll come with you,” in a low, rough voice Thomas hadn’t heard before.

“I can manage,” Thomas replied, his uneasiness growing. That expression stirred deep feelings in him, he couldn’t deny it, but it wasn’t the time for that kind of thing. It was the middle of the afternoon, for goodness’ sake.

“I think I left my cigarettes in my room,” Jimmy replied.

“They’re right there, on the table.”

“My other ones. Come on.” He was gone, taking the stairs two at a time like he was in the most urgent hurry.

Thomas had opened his curtains before he left in the morning, so, unlike the servants’ hall, his room was bathed in bright, almost violent, sunlight. Thomas had barely closed the door when Jimmy was on him. His mouth plundered Thomas’ while his hands worked the buttons of his shirt, fumbling. He grew frustrated and gripped the shirt in both hands. When Thomas realized what he was about to do, he grabbed Jimmy’s wrists.

“This isn’t my kit.”

“Then get the bloody thing off yourself,” Jimmy snarled. Thomas had never been happier to obey an order, even if he didn’t know what had prompted it. Jimmy buried his face in Thomas’ neck, his tongue lapping up beads of sweat. When the shirt was off, falling to the floor in a wet heap, Jimmy pushed him onto the bed. He moved further down, his hands gripping Thomas’ waist just where Thomas was beginning to feel a bit self-conscious. It wasn’t as easy to work off Mrs. Patmore’s pies as it had once been. _You try getting older, Jimmy,_ he thought, with unnecessary malice. He was about to say it when Jimmy put his face in Thomas’ armpit and groaned, so loudly Thomas fully expected someone to barge in and accuse him of murder.

“Shh,” Thomas said. Jimmy groaned again, a fraction more quietly, and reached for Thomas’ belt.

Afterwards, as Thomas lay half-conscious, feeling like he’d been hit by a locomotive, he was dimly aware that the room stunk, of sweat and sex and the usual hard work. He’d need half a bottle of scent before he went back, and so would Jimmy. Which would leave Carson raising his eyebrows and muttering about “dandies”, as if they’d come downstairs in silk dressing gowns and cravats. “Jimmy?” Thomas glanced down. Jimmy’s head was on his chest, his eyes closed. Thomas reached up and ran a hand through his hair. It slipped off and Thomas rested it on Jimmy’s back instead. “Jimmy,” he repeated, “what was that about?”

It wasn’t a complaint. Rather the reverse. “That” had been one of the most wonderfully unexpected encounters they’d ever had, and every encounter was wonderfully unexpected, in that Thomas had never expected to encounter Jimmy in any capacity at all, other than professional. Every day, he wondered what he’d done to deserve Jimmy, and every day he hoped beyond measure that, whatever it was, he could keep it up forever.

Jimmy sat up. His cheeks were red, but whether that was from embarrassment or because he’d caught the sun, Thomas couldn’t tell. “I like that.”

“Yes, so did I, but…”

“Thomas. I. Like. That.” He nodded his head, the motion seeming to encompass both Thomas’ body and the sweat-soaked cricket whites on the floor. Thomas still didn’t catch his drift. He liked cricket? He liked the idea of Thomas playing cricket? He’d never seemed particularly excited by it before.

“All right,” Thomas said, smiling, because he didn’t want to spoil things. Spoiling things was his specialty, one he was trying to curtail. “We should get back before they miss us.”

“Yes.” Jimmy didn’t seem inclined to move. He squared his shoulders, as if he were about to say something important. He looked Thomas in the eye, squinting a little in the sun. “Do you remember when you told me about your cousin in India?”

“Vaguely.”

“Have you ever thought about going there?”

Now, Thomas was completely flummoxed. “Never.” O’Brien was in India, after all, and Thomas didn’t think the subcontinent was big enough for the two of them.

“Oh.” Jimmy sounded almost disappointed. “That’s a shame.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “I just thought we might go together, one day.”

Perhaps he’d had a touch of sun. There was no other explanation for it. “You should get a drink of water,” Thomas counselled. “This heat can be dangerous.”

“It certainly can.” Jimmy stood up, suddenly. “I’ll see you at supper.” He dressed, quick as lightning, and was gone. Thomas doused himself in scent, confusion still lingering in a pleasant, unconcerned sort of way, and reached for his jacket.


End file.
